


bitter chill, bitter air

by crispytins



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Listen I just wanted to see this at some point in the show, M/M, One-Shot, Sharing a Cape, i’m very liberal with my tags pls it’s just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 04:23:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20558189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crispytins/pseuds/crispytins
Summary: Merlin is cold. Lancelot elects to fix this.





	bitter chill, bitter air

**Author's Note:**

> I've been dying to write something for Mercelot/Merlance/Whatever They're Called! Their dynamic is one of my personal favorites from the show, and it hurt to not get to see more soft moments between them when there was so much potential. This isn't really anything that serious, I just wanted to (waves hands) Do Something for them.

Winters in Camelot were torrid affairs. From afar, they seemed picturesque, with snow settling into the turrets and over the roofs of the gilded palace. But villagers within dreaded the chill, the cruel winds that blew the life out of their crops and livestock. 

Rations always ran out shortly before Yuletide, and it was, since Arthur’s coronation as king, his responsibility to pick up additional provisions from a trading port in Gedref and return them before the heaviest snow began to fall and festivity preparations commenced. 

It wasn’t an independent task - Arthur took Merlin, of course, as ‘useless’ as he was, and his most trusted knights. The journey was winding and bitter, and even the stubborn King of Camelot saw reason enough to not embark on it alone. 

“Because it would be a terrible idea, to do this by yourself,” Merlin reasoned as they crossed through the forest, frostbitten leaves crunching underneath their boots. The knights had fallen behind them in step, laughing amongst themselves and trading stories, leaving Merlin to thrill Arthur alone with riveting commentary. “I can’t believe your father used to make you do this alone.” 

Arthur shrugged. “I wasn’t _ that _ alone. Usually, I had my personal guard with me. They weren’t the most entertaining lot, but I wasn’t wallowing in _ silent misery _, as you called it earlier.” 

Merlin sighed. “That still doesn’t sound like a very pleasant trip.” Not that this venture was any more pleasant; Merlin’s back ached terribly from the weight of multiple bags, and his legs burned from a continuous cycle of walking. How Arthur hadn’t yet said a word about any pains of _ his _was frankly astounding. 

The king turned to him, lips curled up with amusement. “This isn’t a walk in the garden, Merlin. We’re picking up enough provisions to feed the whole of Camelot for another two months, and the route to the port happens to be quite a difficult trek.” 

Merlin shifted some bag straps on his shoulders. “I noticed,” he grumbled. 

Arthur unlooped the heaviest messenger bag from his servant’s arm and slung it across his own shoulder, wearing an ever prattish grin. “Of course you did.” 

Night crept in over the trees, swallowing the hollow in dark blotches and shadows that colored the underbrush, and Arthur assigned each knight a duty. Gwaine was squatted over their newly birthed fire in an attempt to cook something, Percival and Elyan had departed to collect additional firewood, and Leon and Arthur were hunched over a map, murmuring to themselves as they traced out the route for the following day. 

Lancelot and Merlin removed bedrolls from their sacks and laid them side by side against the stiff ground, feeling the temperature of their surroundings fall swiftly. 

“Is it always this cold?” Lancelot asked quietly, smoothing out the wrinkles in his roll. “In these northern areas, I mean. When Percival and I traversed the southern borders, it never reached extremes quite like this.” 

Merlin hummed thoughtfully. “It all depends.” He sat upon his bedroll, legs drawn into his chest as he rubbed at his raw hands. “Sometimes there’s nothing more than a light chill, and we see only thin layers of ice upon the waters. Other times, blizzards come with such ferocity that we can’t leave our chambers for weeks on end, and everything is doused in white.” 

Lancelot shot him an apologetic smile. “That sounds awful. My apologies.” Months had passed since Lancelot had slotted himself comfortably into the daily businesses of the palace, and the warlock was more than grateful for his company. Never before had he been able to speak freely about his magic with anyone outside of Gaius, or had the chance to be in the presence of someone with such a charitable heart. It was endlessly lovely to have someone who never hesitated to lend his ear or a hand. With Lancelot, Merlin felt cared for. 

Why the man was saying sorry for any reason was ridiculous. 

Merlin nudged him lightly with his elbow. “It’s not _ your _fault that the weather is like this.” 

“Hmm. I suppose not, but it’s still unfortunate that the snow hindered your activities.” With a sigh, Lancelot cast his gaze into the fire, dark eyes shining warmly in their glow. “At least it was beautiful, wasn’t it?” 

“What?” 

Lancelot moved closer to Merlin, arm pressing against his. “The snow.” Merlin was close enough to see the laughing lines set against his eyes, the stray curls that curved against his forehead.

And he heard himself say, rather softly, “Of course. The most beautiful.” But Merlin wasn’t sure, as the knight drew away and went to see the others, if he had been talking about the snow at all. 

They all gathered around the fire and ate Gwaine’s surprisingly savory stew, before drifting into an amiable silence that would usher them to their bedrolls and then to sleep. Arthur realized dimly that Merlin had no blanket or means to cover himself with through the icy night, and offered him his jacket, which Merlin refused - the king wore only one more thin layer below it. There would be no good in entering the port if Arthur wasn't present with them in his best form.

Each knight had removed their beloved capes from their shoulders and had wrapped themselves up in them tightly, falling into sleep before noticing Arthur's noticeable grimace of guilt and Merlin's minor predicament. Arthur didn't further press the matter, burying himself deep in his cape. 

Merlin had no cape, as he was not a knight, and was forced to tuck his legs and arms into himself, bidding the cold to leave him alone. It didn’t do him much good. When he exhaled, he could see his breath in the chilling air - and it wasn’t long before his teeth began to chatter, before the feeling in his limbs had all but left him. Oh, how he regretted forgetting his blanket, no matter how pathetically thin and ragged it had been. At least it had been _something -_ Merlin's jacket wasn't nearly thick enough to compensate. 

It wasn’t any help that snow soon drifted silently through the spindly branches and leaves, catching his eyelashes and the exposed skin his scarf couldn’t fully hide. 

Merlin scowled. 

“Hey,” a small voice whispered suddenly into the silence. Merlin blinked, flipping on his side to face Lancelot, whose brows were knit with alarm. “You okay?” 

Merlin winced as he adjusted his boxed position. “Never better,” he supplied, words leaving in shaking breaths. 

“You’re freezing to death!” Lancelot all but hissed. Scrambling to sit up, he yanked his cape back from his own chest, lifting it up and placing it around Merlin’s shaking form. “Here, lie back down.” 

“Lancelot, I’m not going to - !” 

“_Merlin_.” The knight’s lips were drawn into a thin line, and he raised an eyebrow in challenge. “_You _ are going to lie back down and go to sleep.” 

“But this,” and Merlin grabbed at the edges of the red cape covering his body, “is _ yours ._” 

Lancelot nodded. “Indeed it is. Such a clever observation.” 

Merlin felt himself flush as he fell back against his roll. “I’m not going to let you get sick because of me. Listen, it’s not even really that cold!” 

The knight was nonplussed. “Your ears are red. Apple red.” 

Stubborn bastard. “Yeah, well, so are yours. It’s fine. _I’m_ fine. Damn it all, I'll…” 

“You’ll what? Turn me into a frog?” Lancelot watched the warlock open his mouth before indignantly clamping it shut. There was silent laughter in his features that Merlin sorely wanted to magic away. “I'm wearing enough layers to survive without one extra layer. Come now, Merlin.” 

He leaned forward, hands digging into the cold soil, pressing his lips to Merlin’s forehead in a gentle kiss. Lancelot’s breath ghosted Merlin’s cheek when he whispered, “It wouldn’t be very noble of me to leave you in such a state.” 

Merlin was too stunned to respond. 

A moment ticked past before Lancelot lay back down, sighing good-naturedly as he drifted back to rest. Unbeknownst to him, Merlin had very much so frozen on the spot, his heart hammering furiously, rapidly. Merlin had meant to say something, _ anything_, but his traitorous body refused to let flustered words unhinge from the roof of his mouth, and for that matter, allow air into his lungs. 

Hesitantly, the warlock raised his fingers to where Lancelot’s lips had left on his forehead.

The action had been light, a butterfly's touch that rendered his chest a flipping mess and had relieved him of the blistering cold. It was...far from unpleasant. The farthest, actually. Maybe the closest thing to magic he had felt in a long while. 

Now, it wasn't because Merlin had never been kissed before. No, he dizzily realized, that wasn't it at _all_. The tenderness of Lancelot's touch had been, for the most part, something wholly foreign to Merlin, as it bore no resemblance to the rushed, messy pressures of the mouth the warlock had felt before. Oddly, though, that made sense - Lancelot had a heart of gold, with goodwill knit into his bones. His touch wouldn't be brash like metal, or fleeting like the whispers in the wind.

No, Merlin thought with a smile, that wouldn't suit him at all. 

He whispered, eyes flashing gold, as he beckoned the cape to unfurl itself and cover Lancelot as well. 

The knight didn’t open his eyes, but his features seemed to soften in his slumber. The momentary exposure to the chill he had felt dissipated as the warm fabric tucked itself underneath his shoulder-blades, smoothing itself over his chest.

“There,” Merlin said softly. He drew himself closer to Lancelot, adjusting the thick cape over them one more time. He brought his lips to Lancelot's chainmail-clad shoulder, a small smile upon them as they parted from the cold surface. “See? Now we’ll both be warm.” 

And so they were.

**Author's Note:**

> come hang with me at my twitter @hawthorias


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